The Scintilla Project, Day 5. Three-Rail Molly.

Day 5.  What talent do you have that your usual blog readers don't know about?  Talk about a time when you showed it to its best advantage.

"Don't do it."

My eyes were wide, my lips drawn taut in a grimace as I pointed menacingly at the cue ball rolling towards the corner pocket.  It stopped, an inch shy of the lip.

It was Tuesday - league night, when me and my seven teammates gathered at a bar in lower Manhattan to shoot stick against other teams in our division.  I was a card-carrying member of the APA, and on league night, you had better come correct.

I could hear the groans of my teammates as I stepped back from the table.  I had two balls left on the table - the One in the corner, shortside to where I'd left the cue, and the Eight sitting pretty on the rail in between.  Problem was, there wasn't a full-table bank I knew that wouldn't kick the cue back up at least midway to the side pocket, and the Eight was so tight against the rail that every degree on that angle counted.  No, I needed to drop the One and have the cue sit.

I got down on the shot.  I heard El Capitan's chair scrape as he stood, heard him say what I knew he was going to say: "Coach."

"No."  It was Pericles who said it, waving El Capitan back down.  "He doesn't need it."  He knew what I was doing.

It's the first trick shot I ever learned.  Taught to me by my Kuya in the rec center at Fairfield.  Shoot from one corner cross-table at the second diamond.  A little top left, and it'll bounce three rails to the shortside corner. I'd done it dozens of times, fucking around on the tables with Per, in between beers at Fat Cat and Amsterdam.  Just never in league.  Never when it actually counted.

The whispers started.  I was very obviously not going for the long bank.  Nor did I seem to be aiming at anything in particular.  My opponent was up, keeping a respectful distance, but clearly curious as to what the shit I was doing.

I shot.  I watched as the cue spun out, one, two, three rails before it rolled to the One, slowly, too slowly for my liking.  And with a click, there was contact.

And the One dropped.  I exhaled as I marked my pocket, and shot the Eight to a chorus of cheers.